


No.

by Watermelon Wolves (RogueMarieL)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Failwolf, Humor, Knotting, M/M, Misinformation, Romance, Stalking, au after season 2, no actual knotting occurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueMarieL/pseuds/Watermelon%20Wolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Stiles is misinformed about werewolves and were-animals in general. Derek is a lousy stalker. (But it's fine. Stiles is worse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suica/gifts).



> I was assigned the prompt. I'm not quite sure I succeeded, but this is what he gets anyway.
> 
> I am so thankful for my betas, lookididthething and Phnx. Any mistakes left are my own.

Stiles sighed. Scott was, as usual, taking forever. How long did it really take to clean some cages? Stiles ducked into an exam room and walked to the box sitting innocently on the table. Dropping his backpack to the floor, he looked inside and smiled.

On the plus side, the longer Scott took, the longer Stiles had to look through these new books Deaton had brought in. The Joys of Herbal Medicine, Herbs and You, Myths and Legends of the Middle Ages, The Healing in the Vine, and The Biologie and Habites of the Werewölfe.

Being surrounded by werewolves (and really not wanting to read another book on herbal remedies this week), Stiles picked up the last book. It was a new book, hardcover, but with a dust jacket styled like an old, leather-bound book.. He flipped to the back to look for the reviews, because that was always a good way to judge the accuracy of ancient tomes.

The Biologie and Habites of the Werewölfe

( _Now translated into modern English!_ )

Praise from the fans:

_"I never leave home without it. A very useful guide."_

\-------Hunter Eisenhut

_"Modern day translation is very helpful."_

\-------Hunter Bucher

_"I enjoyed the section on battle, particularly the stabbing."_

\-------Hunter Pfählung

~~_"The fuck is this bullshi--"_ ~~

~~\-------Hunter Killitwithfire~~

(Hunter Killitwithfire could unfortunately not be reached for comments.)

Well, if nothing else, the hunters seemed to think it was legit. Stiles determinedly didn't wonder what happened to Hunter Killitwithfire. And what kind of name was Killitwithfire anyway? Was it a family name, like Argent, or did someone actually choose to be called that? Then again, he mused, all the good names were probably already taken anyway -- like usernames always were.

Shrugging, Stiles flipped open the book.

_The werewölfe asserts dominance through physical contact.  
This may include fighting or other types of physical intimidation,  
with the winner being the higher ranked member in the pack hierarchy._

Stiles nodded -- this seemed fairly accurate in his experience. How often had the betas gotten into it with each other? How often had he himself been shoved into doors and walls (or hit with parts of his own car)? He flipped to another page.

_Scent-sharing is very important for the werewölfe_  
pack. This encourages a tendency toward communal sleeping  
arrangements or other long-lasting physical contact of the  
non-violent variety. 

While Stiles didn’t think any of the wolves he knew were sharing a bed (though he admitted the likelihood of any of them telling him were slim to none), he had noticed that there were some awkwardly long hugs going on. Sometimes. He continued flipping.

_The werewölfe finds the scent of flowers calming._  
Many werewölfe packs hang flowers in the entryways of their  
dens, or otherwise surround themselves with the scent.  
The werewölfe is particularly fond of marigolds and posies. 

Well, that would explain Jackson, at least. He still wore perfume -- sorry, _cologne_ , and that smelled kind of like flowers. But… that was it. Not even Erica had flower-related things. Stiles hummed in thought, flipping to another section.

_During sexual intimacy, the werewölfe may allow his knot to_

Stiles slammed the book shut as voices echoed down the hall into the exam room he was in. He managed to knock over some of the books from the pile and hastily bent to pick them up. They ended up haphazardly stacked next to the bag, and Stiles leaned on them as Scott and Dr. Deaton walked in.

“Heeeey guys. What’s up? How are the puppies?” Stiles asked. He paused, realized what that sounded like, and quickly backtracked. “Not, I mean, the betas, but the _actual_ puppies. I thought someone had brought some in recently? But yeah, the betas too, I guess, even though they aren’t puppies like at all and -- Hi, Dr. Deaton. How are you?”

Dr. Deaton smiled. “Hello, Mr. Stilinski. The puppies are fine. They were lucky to be found so quickly. Would you like to meet them?”

"Oh, no thanks," Stiles gestured to Scott. "We really need to get our homework done. Can I come back later, though? I love puppies."

"Of course. Have a good night." Dr. Deaton walked back out of the room.

"You too!" Stiles yelled.

"Stiles!" Scott tried to hush him, but it was too late. The animals did not seem to appreciate the noise. "Ugh. Let's just go. I'll grab my stuff?"

"Yeah, sure." Stiles picked up his bag.

As they walked outside, Scott turned to his friend. "Hey Stiles. You know Erica will kill you if she ever finds out you refer to the three of them as ‘puppies,’ right?”

“Oh, shut up and get in the car.”

\--

After dropping Scott off at his house (and playing the three hours worth of _totally and completely necessary, Dad, I swear_ Call of Duty -- though they never had gotten around to homework), Stiles finally made it back home. The Sheriff was on the way out, so Stiles was free to grab some food and head up to his room to contemplate the book he’d glanced through earlier.

Opening the door slowly and glancing around for stray werewolves had become a habit for Stiles. “And how sad is that, really? This is my _bedroom_. Other people do not have to worry about this shit. Fucking werewolves and their lack of reasonable boundaries,” he muttered to himself after reassuring himself that he was alone. He tossed his bag to the bed and swore when things spilled to the ground.

He grabbed his notebooks, stacking them to shove back in, when he noticed a book that shouldn’t be there. “Shit,” he breathed. He hadn’t actually meant to wander off with Deaton’s book.

But since it was already _here_ …

Stiles glanced around to make sure that no one had mysteriously appeared since he’d come into the room, which was, as always, a risk of being friends with creeper wolves. He went to the window and made sure it was locked. After grabbing his laptop, a notebook, and a pen, he settled onto the bed with the book. It was time to research.

The Biologie and Habites of the Werewölfe

( _Now translated into modern English!_ )

_Introduction_

_The werewölfe is a mysterious creature bound by the  
moon. The werewölfe nearly always belongs to a pack,  
which may or may not be made up of close family members. _

_There are three levels to werewölfe hierarchy: alpha, beta,_  
and omega. Alphas are the leaders of the pack and are  
recognized both by the deference of other werewölfes and their  
glowing red eyes. Betas are the members of the pack who are  
led by the alpha. There are some physical differences between  
betas and alphas. While the eyes of the alpha are red, betas  
have golden eyes. Alphas are also physically stronger than betas. 

_The omega, like the beta, has golden eyes. However, omegas_  
are packless creatures. Because of this, they are the weakest of the  
three categories . However, they are often fueled by desperation, which  
makes the outcome of any battles between werewölves unknown. 

“Stiles? Are you still awake?”

Stiles jerked to attention. Spitting out the pen, he hurriedly shoved his notes and the book under his pillow. He saved the document and opened up a report he was working on for school.

“Hey dad! Yeah, just working on stuff, you know?” Stiles said, gesturing to the computer as his dad came in.

“Please tell me you aren’t writing another paper on the history of male circumcision?” John sighed.

“No! No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. This isn’t even _for_ economics.”

John held his hand out to stop Stiles. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Are you about ready for bed? It’s late.”

Stiles looked at the clock. More time had passed than he had realized. “Yeah dad. Just, uh, five more minutes?”

“Five more minutes. And then bed!” John said. He smiled tiredly. “Goodnight, son.”

“‘Night, Dad.”

Stiles sighed as his dad shut the door. He shoved his notes and the book under the bed, which was clearly the most reasonable place to keep them. 

At the very least, he had some plans for morning.

\--

When Stiles woke up, he hurried through his morning routine: shower, clothes, poptart. He needed to get to the store before school started.

First, he had to figure out where he was going. Luckily, Stiles had the power of the Internet. It didn’t take him long to find what he needed, and soon he was out the door.

Flowers would have to wait until after school -- he didn’t want them to wilt -- but he could buy perfume and potpourri at the mall before classes. The book didn’t really say what was best, but Stiles figured he could try all possible flower-related things. Calming down the wolves was too important to end up with the second-best solution, after all.

First, the potpourri.

Stiles managed to make it to the proper aisle before he was accosted by an employee.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Uh, sure? I mean, I’m just looking for potpourri, so…”

She looked at him. “Well, you’re in the right place. Are you searching for anything in particular?

“...Something that smells like flowers? Oh, and those little bags to put it in?” Stiles gestured vaguely to the display.

“You mean _sachets_?” 

“Yes! _Sachets_. Probably. Those. I need nine.”

“...Nine?” The woman managed to smile politely at him and gestured at the display. “Well, you seem to have found everything okay. Let me know if you need any more help.” She quickly walked away.

“Great, thanks.” Stiles turned back to the potpourri. Sales people were always so odd.

\--

Ten minutes and a ridiculous amount of potpourri later found Stiles at a perfume stand.

The poor woman at the counter was beginning to look frustrated. “Sir, this _does_ smell like flowers.”

“No, no -- I mean yeah, it does, but it smells too, too,” Stiles’ hands waved about as he tried to think of the right word, “chemical-y. You know? I need something that smells less like chemicals and more like marigolds. Or, you know, just your basic flower. But if you have something that smells like marigolds…”

She sighed. “Listen. You realize that you are at a perfume counter looking for something that doesn’t smell like chemicals, right?”

“Right.” Stiles stared at her, wondering where she was going with this.

With another sigh, she picked up a bottle. “Okay, kid. This one is probably your best best. Overpowering rose scent, doesn’t tend to have a noticeable chemical smell.”

She sprayed it in his face.

Coughing, Stiles choked out, “Yeah, that’ll do it. So, how much?”

\--

Even with the purchases he’d stopped for, Stiles still got to school before his friends. “Yes!” he cheered under his breath. Nothing was going to stop today’s mission: Calm the Wolves.

While still in his jeep, Stiles put a little bit of the potpourri into the tiny bags (“What the hell are these called again? Sachets, right, sachets,” he muttered). After finishing the nine of them, he stuffed them into his bag.

He stopped by everyone’s locker. He knew everyone’s combination except Jackson’s and Lydia’s (Lydia had started changing her combination every few days, and she had changed it the day before), but he managed to drop the sachets inside. He also stopped by Danny’s locker, figuring that it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Someone coughed behind him. Stiles froze.

“Can I help you with something?” Danny asked.

“Uh, hi Danny,” Stiles said, turning around quickly. Danny grabbed him by the arm so that he didn’t fall over. “Thanks.”

“Stiles. What are you doing at my locker?”

“Okay. So. I was reading this book, right? And, well… Look. Just take it, okay? It’s supposed to be calming.”

“Stiles…”

“No, dude, seriously. Here,” Stiles thrust the bag at Danny. “Potpourri. Everybody has some, I swear. Gotta go, man, classes and all, and I still need to put my backpack away, bye!”

He left Danny there, staring at the bag of dried flowers. Danny eventually shrugged and tossed it in his locker, but Stiles was not around to see it.

\--

Stiles had opted to carry his own potpourri in the hopes that it would help in classes. No one had gotten into any fights, so Stiles was calling it a win. (He had received an odd look from Isaac, but that was pretty typical.)

Lacrosse was about to start, however, and that would require something extra.

By the time he got everything on, everyone but Jackson and Scott had gone to the field to be yelled at by Finstock. While they had stayed back to talk about “Captain-y things,” it had, as usual, devolved into a fight.

Stiles was prepared. He walked up to them, ignoring the growling, and sprayed them at close range.

The two boys immediately lost their wolfy features and started to cough.

“Stiles!” choked Scott.

“Stilinski, _I am going to kill you_ ,” Jackson snarled.

“Well, that didn’t work out like I had hoped,” Stiles said.

“Dude, what?” Scott had stopped choking, but his expression remained confused and a bit betrayed.

“Whittemore! McCall! Bilinski! I am not paying you to stand around and -- what is that smell?” Finstock asked, looking around.

“Smell, Coach?” Stiles asked with an innocent smile. He’d hidden the bottle behind his back when Finstock had appeared. 

“Yes, Bilinski, smell. It smells… fruity? Flowery? _Flowery_. Why does it smell like flowers? Did I walk into the girls locker room by mistake? Bilinski, _what_ is behind your back?”

“Oh, that. It’s, uh, perfume, sir,” Stiles said, slowly bringing the bottle out from behind him.

“Yeah, Bilinski, I can see that. What I wanna know is _why_?”

“Well, uh, you see. So I was reading last night, right, and then I found this thing that said that floral scents are really good for aggression. And lacrosse is an aggressive sport, right, so I thought _why not_ , you know?” Stiles gestured at Scott and Jackson, who were staring at Stiles like he had misplaced his head. This was, unfortunately, _also_ an expression Stiles was well acquainted with.

“Hand it over, Bilinski.” Taking the bottle from Stiles, Finstock held it up to the light, peering at it as though waiting for something to happen. “You say this increases aggression on the field?”

“Uh…”

“Well, let’s try it, then.” And Finstock sprayed each of them with the little bottle before turning and walking toward the rest of the team.

“Coach? Can I have that back?” Stiles asked.

“Bilinski! We’re conducting an experiment. LINE UP!” he yelled to the already assembled team.

While Finstock sprayed each of the team members (“Shut up, Greenburg! You need all the help you can get!”), Scott turned to Stiles. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Stiles waved helplessly at Finstock. “I didn’t plan for this, dude! I was just testing something!”

Jackson scoffed. “How the hell is _flower scented perfume_ supposed to help us play lacrosse? And why didn’t you spray yourself? You need the help more than anyone else on this team.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Scott glared. Turing to Stiles, he added, “But seriously, dude.”

“Did I say it was to help play lacrosse better or increase aggression? No. No, I did not. And would you like to know why?” Stiles paused for a moment, but before he could continue, Finstock called to them, yelling for them to start running already because they were falling behind.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Stiles promised as they begin practice. 

Stiles didn’t get the bottle back.

\--

Stiles didn’t actually have to explain after lacrosse practice because Scott and Jackson had to head to the Hale house for training. Instead, after his shower, Stiles headed to a flower shop. He was going to buy as many posies and marigolds that he could.

“Hello?” he called, walking in the door.

“Hi! How can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked.

“Hey. I need all the posies and marigolds you are willing to sell me.”

The man blinked, then shrugged. “Well, posies are no problem. We have this polka-dot arrangement over here, if you’d like. We unfortunately don’t have any marigolds in the store, but we can order some if you’d like?”

“Do you happen to know if anyone else sells marigolds? I kind of need them ASAP, you know?” Stiles gestured vaguely. “They’re for my friends.”

“Ah. Well, I can call, but I’m not sure if anyone will be carrying them right now. If you don’t mind waiting for a moment?” he asked.

“Not at all. Thank you.” Stiles turned to look at the bright, cheerful looking flowers. He poked a few of them until some petals fell, and then he took a step back as he pretended he hadn’t been touching anything at all.

When the man came back, his expression told Stiles all he needed to know.

“So, no marigolds, huh?”

“Sorry, no. Would you still like to take the posies?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, it can’t hurt. How many do you have?”

\--

With the werewolves practising How Not To Get Killed By Scary Things (as Stiles liked to call it), Stiles had plenty of time and space to litter the house with the posies. He made sure to put a vase in every room and two in the dilapidated room he was pretty sure Derek was using as a bedroom. It took a few trips to fetch everything from the car, but he managed to get everything settled without anyone walking in.

He felt it was best to leave before they got there. Less hassle that way.

\--

When Stiles made it back home, he decided that it was time to finish the rest of the book. He grabbed his computer and made his way to the bed. Reaching under it, he pulled out everything he had stuck there the night before. He flipped to his bookmark and prepared to read.

_The werewölfe, while generally human in appearance_  
in its unshifted state, does have one difference from  
a true human. Like other canines, the male werewölfe  
has a knot at the base of his penis. 

_During sexual intimacy, the werewölfe may allow  
his knot to expand, locking the mating pair together. This  
is to help ensure a successful breeding of new werewölfes._

Stiles closed the book. He blinked several times as he tried to assimilate this information, then he turned to stare incredulously at the book. He had been running on the assumption that this book was pretty factual, primarily because Deaton owned it. But _knotting_? Really? This was a thing?

Clearly, Stiles needed to ask someone about it. For obvious reasons, Erica was out. So were Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson. None of them would ever admit anything to him -- and more importantly, they would never let him live down asking.

And he couldn’t ask Scott. While Scott would definitely tell Stiles everything, he would also inevitably start talking about Allison this and Allison that and how perfect she was. And all things considered, Stiles had already heard way more about that than he was strictly comfortable with.

Though, he could ask Allison… He winced. Or not. That might not be any better.

That just left Derek. If anyone would know, it would have to be him. Of course, he was also the most likely to kill him.

Maybe he should ask Allison after all. She’d probably be less likely to eat him, anyway.

\--

Stiles wasn’t really sure he wanted to ask, but Allison was _right there_ , so it would be almost irresponsible of him not to. Who really knew when he would have another moment like this, without Scott to drag her off to frolic in the forest or something?

“Hey, Allison. Are you busy? ‘Cause I can come back later or something,” Stiles said as he dropped into the chair next to her.

“Just doing homework. What’s up?” she asked, closing her books.

“Well, so here’s the thing.” Stiles pulled out The Biologie and Habites of the Werewölfe.

“Oh! Stiles, where did you get a copy of this?” Allison asked, reaching for the book.

“You know it?”

“Yeah, it’s an old Hunter’s Guide. One of the best, actually. Where did you find it?”

“Oh, you know, around.” Stiles shrugged. He sighed. “Listen, I don’t… I’m trying to understand some things, alright? And I don’t want details or anything, but…”

“This is about Derek, isn’t it,” said Allison with an evil looking grin.

“No! Why would you ask me something like that? Is it about Derek. Hah. No. It’s about werewolf sex.” Stiles decided to manfully ignore the fact that he was blushing.

Allison’s grin got wider. “So, it’s about Derek.”

“Allison!”

She laughed. “Alright, alright. You want to know about knots, right?”

Stiles eyes widened and he leaned forward unconsciously. “So it _is_ a thing.”

“Yep. Scott and I haven’t… I mean, we’re not ready for it, you know?”

There was a joke there, but Stiles thought it was probably best to ignore it for the sake of his sanity (and getting answers). “Fair enough. So it doesn’t just happen?”

“No,” she shook her head. “At least, Scott’s been good about it. Maybe it’s different for bitten wolves, but we’ve never… done that. Maybe someday, but…”

“Yeah, no. Thanks.”

“So. Are you going to go talk to Derek about it?” Allison asked.

“Yeah, I probably should. I mean, he’s the -- Allison! This isn’t about Derek!”

When Scott came by a few minutes later, neither one of them would tell him why Allison was laughing so hard. Or why Stiles was quite that shade of red.

\--

When Stiles got home later that day, his dad immediately sent him back out of the house to buy groceries. Stiles didn’t mind this chore -- it meant he could buy whatever food he wanted. He did most of the cooking, so doing the shopping made the most sense. (Plus, it limited the Sheriff’s snack food supply -- always a plus.) Stiles grabbed the list and got back in the jeep.

\--

Stiles jumped back into the aisle, heart pounding. Maybe he hadn’t been noticed? He peered, ninja-like, around the corner. There was Derek, buying some apples.

Score.

He followed Derek from the produce through the meat section over to the dairy. Derek turned around several times, but Stiles managed to dart around the corner or behind a counter. (He didn’t see it as Derek rolled his eyes, so he felt his efforts were very stealthy. He was getting better at this.)

Stiles _needed_ to ask him about what he had read in  The Biologie and Habites of the Werewölfe. Was what it said about werewolves true? It must be. No one had said anything about the flowers, not really, and if the passage about the flowers were true… Plus, Allison believed it, and she came from a family of hunters. She called it one of the best guides!

But he had to be _sure_ , and what better way than to ask Derek?

Because it had to be Derek. The other wolves were all bitten, and may not actually know about it. Besides, what if how wolfhood was achieved made a difference? The book didn’t specify.

“Can I help you?”

“Ack!” Stiles flailed, trying to maintain his balance. “What have I said about the mysterious appearing? I _will_ buy a bell. No, really, you don’t seem to believe me, but I will _totally_ \--”

“Stiles. _Why are you following me_.” Derek growled, eyes turning red.

“Dude. Who’s following? Not me. I am shopping. See my very handy…” Stiles trailed off as he realized he had lost his cart along the way. “Damnit.”

“Well?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Gotta go, bye!”

Stiles fled the store, pretending he wasn’t bright red. (It was a losing battle, but as long as no one saw him blushing, it didn’t count, right?)

His dad was less than pleased that Stiles had forgotten the groceries, and he sent Stiles right back out the door. At least Derek wasn’t there the second time.

\--

After he (finally) returned with the groceries, Stiles flopped on the bed. He groaned in frustration. “What was I thinking? He was _right there_. Though, I guess I couldn’t have asked him in the store anyway.”

His dad knocked. “Son? You talking to yourself in there?”

“Uh. No?”

“Uh-huh. How’s the homework coming?”

“Did it in Study Hall,” Stiles lied.

“Okay,” John nodded. “Then you just… keep doing whatever you’re doing.” The Sheriff’s footsteps faded down the hall.

Stiles would just have to find Derek in a less public area.

\--

The camaro was sitting in front of the Hale house when Stiles pulled up. He took a deep breath, then another. He was ready. Soon he would take off his seatbelt and get out of the car. Any moment now.

 _Any moment now_.

He wasn’t moving. The seconds ticked by. He dropped his head to the steering wheel. “Damnit.”

Stiles tried to convince himself that he was going to get out of the car for another few minutes before finally acknowledging that it wasn’t going to happen. He turned the key and drove back the way he came.

As he got closer to his house, though, he noticed a familiar leather-clad man walking down the street. He slowed the jeep to a crawl -- perhaps this was a good time to ask. Derek didn’t seem to be doing anything, and no one else seemed to be around. Still, Stiles didn’t speed up. He followed Derek for nearly a full block trying to decide.

Stiles was concentrating so hard on _following_ Derek that it took him a moment to realize that something had changed. One moment he was admiring Derek’s leather jacket and how good he looked in it, and the next he was thinking about how nice Derek’s face looked even when he was annoyed. A moment after that he realized that he was being glared at by said face. Eyes wide, Stiles quickly considered his options. Unfortunately, ducking wasn’t really viable, and there wasn’t anything to hide behind. So Stiles did the most reasonable thing he could think of. He stepped on the gas and drove away.

Past Derek.

He probably should have thought that through a little more.

\--

Stiles resolved to not even think about Derek or the book. No sir. He did some homework, made dinner, played a ridiculous amount of video games, and got ready for bed, and did not even contemplate the complexities of werewolves in any way, shape, or form.

 _Particularly_ not shape or form.

It still took a really, _really_ long time for him to sleep that night.

\--

Stiles groaned as his phone buzzed. He reached over to see if it was life-or-death or something he could ignore without guilt until a more reasonable, preferably post-noon time. (Why did no one ever seem to understand that morning really shouldn’t start until 10:00?) It wasn’t a text message, though, just the motion detector alarm he’d set up outside his room. Checking the super-stealthy tree camera he’d set up (and it really said something about his life that it took hours to find a spot not easily noticed by even werewolves -- and that he’d had to put it up in the first place), he found it was Derek. Derek, who was just sitting there, glaring at nothing -- at least as far as Stiles could tell.

Since Derek seemed to be making no move to come in, Stiles figured it could probably wait. He was too tired to deal with anything else.

With a muttered “ _sourwolf_ ,” he put his phone down, rolled over, and fell asleep.

\--

The next morning, at the far more reasonable hour of eleven, Stiles had made up his mind. One way or another, he was going to talk to Derek about knotting.

Since Stiles was -- _above all else_ \-- a responsible student, first he had to get his homework done, especially since he’d already claimed to have finished it. There was a research project due in history, and Stiles needed to pick up a few books from the library.

The black camaro parked just up the street didn’t exactly blend into the background, but Stiles opted to ignore it anyway. He was definitely going to talk to Derek today -- just later.

It became slightly less easy to ignore when it followed him to the library. When he got out of the jeep, though, the doors to the camaro didn’t open, so Stiles shrugged and walked inside.

Walking through the stacks, it became readily apparent that someone had followed him in after all. Stiles would be more worried about it, but his stalker had turned a corner slightly too fast, and it was definitely Derek. (Stiles refused to think about what it said about him that he could recognize Derek while the man lurked in shadows. Though, on second thought, maybe the lurking made it easier.)

Stiles turned another corner and suddenly found himself pressed against a wall.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles said, pretending his heart wasn’t beating a thousand times a minute.

“Stiles. You followed me all day yesterday. Why.” Derek punctuated his question by pushing Stiles harder against the wall.

“So demanding,” Stiles commented, relaxing. “But really, it was all just coincidence.”

“What it it you’re always telling us? Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern?”

“ _Yeeeees_ ,” Stiles drew the word out as he tried to think. Then it hit him. He straightened up, which resulted in Derek stepping back. Not that Stiles was disappointed or anything. “You’re right. But! I only followed you twice. So. Not a pattern.”

Derek’s lips quirked up into a quick smile. “You did also come to the house. Either way,” he said before Stiles could interrupt, “you did just admit to following me. _Why_.”

“Uh. About that. See--”

“Oh, I am so sorry! I’m just here for a book. Don’t mind me!” One of Stiles’ classmates reached around them to get a book. “Stilinski? Are you here for your report too?”

Derek glared at her. “Go.”

Eyes wide, she left as fast as her feet could take her.

“Dude. Do you have any idea what I am going to have to deal with on Monday, now?” Stiles groaned, head falling back against the shelves. When he looked back up, Derek’s eyes were red. He shivered.

“Come by the house later. We won’t be interrupted.” Derek turned to go, but stopped. “You shivered. Are you cold?”

“...Yes,” Stiles said. Becauses there was _clearly_ no other reason to shiver or anything.

Derek cocked his head to the side before smirking. “In that case, here.” He took off his jacket and thrust it at Stiles.

“Uh.”

“Now you put your arms through the sleeves…”

“Yeah, no, I get that. I _do_ have a jacket in the jeep, though, so it’s fine, really. Thanks? But I--” Stiles tried to hand the jacket back. Instead, he found his arms forcefully maneuvered through the sleeves. His jaw dropped in shock.

“Wear the jacket, Stiles.”

As Stiles watched Derek walk away, he mentally tallied another point for the book under scent-marking.

\--

Stiles left the library fairly soon after Derek did, still wearing the jacket. He drove to the house and once again tried to convince himself to get out of the car.

This time, though, Derek already knew Stiles was coming, and to avoid possible death, Stiles eventually managed to shove himself out the door. He walked to the door and went inside.

“Derek?” he called. There was no answer. “Hey, Derek!”

Stiles went through the house, muttering to himself. While he was pleased to see that the flowers were all still there, he was less than happy to realize that he was alone in the house. “Werewolves. Always insisting you meet them places and then failing to show up.” He sat on the porch to wait.

He managed to sit there for three minutes before deciding that looking for Derek was clearly the better option. He wandered into the woods. Twenty minutes later, he saw Derek walking down a path. He thought about calling out before reconsidering. Was he _really_ ready to talk about this?

Five more minutes couldn’t hurt.

Unfortunately, Stiles made the mistake of blinking, and then Derek was gone from his sight. He looked around helplessly for a few moments before conceding defeat.

“Derek!”

“Yes,” a voice came from behind him.

“Damnit!” Stiles jumped. “We’ve talked about this!”

Derek laughed, which caused Stiles to stare at him, open mouthed. It was a really nice laugh, and Stiles always really liked hearing it.

Even though it was usually at his expense.

“So,” Derek said as he leaned against a tree. “You wanted something?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nope. Nothing at all. Nice day, isn’t it?”

Derek sighed. “Stiles. You were going to tell me why you were following me.”

Stiles slumped forward, defeated. Well, he had tried, anyway. He sat on a conveniently placed tree stump, opened his bag, and pulled out The Biologie and Habites of the Werewölfe. “So, I was reading this book, and there was a chapter on sex,” he said, handing it to Derek.

“This? This is… Stiles, don’t tell me you believed this?” Derek’s eyebrows were raised as high as they could go. “Really?”

“Um. Well, it seemed pretty legit, and I--”

“No. Stiles, no.” Derek sighed.

“No _what_ , Derek? We have to use our words.” Stiles stood up and crossed his arms. “Telepathy is not in my particular skill set.”

“Stiles. This book was written by a very old werewolf pack a very long time ago. It’s not a guide to hunting, it’s more of a…” Derek paused to consider his words. “More of a collection of tales for gullible werewolves. Werewolf packs treat this kind of thing as a practical joke. And, of course, it was published to spread misinformation. It’s got some truth to it, but… it’s mostly lies.”

“What do you mean the book was mostly lies? But, but the flowers, and the jacket, and, and…!” Stiles threw his hands in the air.

“Stiles. Think about it. What self-respecting werewolf would actually allow a book _full of things to help hunters_ to be published?” Derek rolled his eyes.

“But the flowers! And the jacket!” Stiles threw his arms up in the air before flopping back onto the tree stump. “They were for feeling more balanced and scent-sharing! People were calm! I… I feel so lied to right now. Betrayed. I have been betrayed by a book. What is my life?”

“Stiles.” Derek said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Not _everything_ was a lie. The uh, scent-sharing, is actually… Well.” He coughed.

Stiles brightened. “Really?”

“...Maybe.” Derek paused for a moment before coming to a realization. “Wait. You said… Did you think we had _knots_?” he asked incredulously.

“...No?”

“Is _this_ why you’ve been following me? You’ve been leaking arousal all over the place. Did it turn you on to think--” Derek’s eyes were red as he stepped away from Stiles.

“No! Jesus, Derek. No. I just… I really like you, okay?” Stiles looked down. “And I know you don’t, like, at all, but… Anyway, I was reading this book and then it said that and I was really kind of not exactly happy about the whole thing because _wow_ does that sound uncomfortable, but--”

Stiles wasn’t exactly expecting the kiss, fleeting though it was. 

Derek was smiling again. “Let’s go talk about this some place not in the middle of the woods. Sound good?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. That sounds… great, actually.” He took Derek’s hand when it was offered and allowed himself to be led back to the house.

**Author's Note:**

> The list of books at the begining of the fic included The Healing in the Vine, which is actually a book written by Tamora Pierce. Sadly, it has nothing to do with werewolves.
> 
> An interesting note. Phnx took the time to find interesting hunter names. Eisenhut is German for wolfs bane, Bucher is French for death by fire, Pfählung is German for impalement, and Killitwithfire, of course, is English for death by fire. (He also ended up with a backstory, which may or may not end up in written form.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Was That a No?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480332) by [Watermelon Wolves (Phnx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phnx/pseuds/Watermelon%20Wolves)




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